


Safe to Shore

by maps



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, California, F/M, M/M, Smoking, Summer, Weed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:04:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maps/pseuds/maps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer is never as long as it needs to be, yet it’s hard not to rush through the heat. It’s time spent under the sun, on rocky beaches, and getting high under a California moon. It’s time hiding, with quick glances and stolen moments. It’s time waiting, for the end of summer, autumn, winter, for their own little forever. Maybe it would be better, though, to die with the setting sun and hope the tide can bring them home.<br/>.::.::.<br/>"I snap open my beer can and the fizz reminds me that it’s summertime. All my expectations of self-discovery bubble up and out of me, like carbonated forms of new experiences. I want to keep them all, disorient them with smoke so they can never leave. So I do."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe to Shore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeelsForBreakfast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelsForBreakfast/gifts).



> this ain't real okay this is fiction (even though i wish it was real sigh) (au's are best though right?) (the answer is yes)
> 
> hey also sorry if the quotation marks are funky idk

There are TV dinners in the freezer if you get hungry,” my mom says, walking out of her and Dad’s shared bedroom. She’s smoking in the house again. I wonder why she even bothers putting lipstick on when it just rubs off onto her cigarette. She motions to the TV, her hand trailing smoke, “Harry, turn that shit down. You’re father’s trying to sleep.”

I acknowledge her by picking up my ancient flip phone to search through my contacts. I like to think she rolls her eyes at my cliche “teenage” response to a mother’s order, but even that would have to mean she cares. She used to. She used to be fun, too, and I led a happy life as a kid. I don’t know what happened. The door slams before she gets the chance to say goodbye. I doubt she even wanted to.

”So much for being quiet,” I say under my breath. I shoot Niall a text: niall you hear bout shane?

ya man fuckin sux. werent u gonna pick up 2nite ?, is his reply.

sure was. until the fucker went an got busted. you know another guy?

ya. b at my place in 30. deuces

k.

I click send and feel somehow accomplished. As if setting up drug plans is something to be proud of. In this town, maybe it is. The TV plays on, alighting the room in eerie blue light. I think I might still be high.

Shane’s face keeps flashing on the screen. I guess he was selling more than just bud. I watch my friend get pressed up against a LAPD cruiser as the video repeats and the newscaster’s voice drones on annoyingly. She sounds like a mom.

.::.::.

In the kitchen, I nuke myself a meal that’s basically plastic but I’m eighteen and poor, so I really shouldn’t give a shit. Gemma’s high heels clack their way into the small wood-paneled room. I’ve never known how girls like her can be so small, yet take up so much space. She’s in that loose-fitting low-cut shirt and a tight mini skirt. It’s weird, being able to tell when your sister wants get laid by the clothes she wears, by the look in her eyes, her overpowering perfume. It’s just not right for a little brother to know. My plastic food isn’t so appealing anymore.

”What’re doing tonight?” I ask, my mouth full.

”As far as mom and dad know, a ‘girls night out’ at the movies. Uh, yeah fuck that. I’m getting smashed,” she replies while grazing through the cupboards looking for something appealing to eat until her hand wraps around something crinkly. She peals open one of our dads protein bars.

”Dad’s gonna kill you for eating that,” I say, being an annoying baby brother and stating the obvious.

She just smirks and turns to leave, taking dads truck keys from the hook on the wall as she goes.

”Wait-Gem!” I swallow the last bite of the brownie. It feels like a sponge going down. “I was planning on taking the truck to go over to Niall’s soon.”

”He’s the one that lives by the 7/11 on Fremont, right?” she asks from the cave of a living room.

”Yeah, that’s him.”

”OK, I’ll take you over. But only because the party’s like two blocks away from there. I’ll be in the car.”

The door slams shut for the second time tonight, and it’s like some sort of domino that’s fallen and set me in motion. My dirty fork clangs in the tin sink, the foot pedal for the garbage can’s lid creaks when I step on it, I knock over my cologne on my dresser when slam the drawer shut after grabbing clean boxers. What a great start to the night. I didn’t even shower.

The car ride to Nialls’s doesn’t take long, but, oh god, does it feel like a lifetime.

”So, you talked to Hally yet?” Gemma asks.

”Uh, no. She broke up with me. Remember?” Lie.

”But you haven’t even tried to get back with her?” She looks sideways at me. “I thought you guys had a good thing going.” She seems genuinely curious, but the conversation has been breached so many times now that it just pisses me off.

”Oh my god, we’ve been over this. She made it pretty fucking clear not to talk to her again. So why would I?”

”She never gave you a reason either?”

”Because I’m a fucking asshole, why else?” I throw her an annoyed look. I don’t get why the subject interests her so much. Why can’t she just get over it? Everyone else has, including Hally.

She’s with some guy named Liam or some shit. I’m not jealous but, I just miss always having something to do everyday and having someone to do something with. When I was with her, I could find it in me to look forward for school, and football games, and pep rallies, because she was there. She was worth it, for a while. But Hally, I had realized in some roundabout way, was just a crutch. Something I kept around to lean on whenever I wanted or needed something. I knew she deserved better. She understood.

”Well, she was spot-on there, kid brother,” Gemma replies bringing the truck and my musings to a stop. “Now get the fuck out and be safe!” I step out and she speeds off without looking back.

There are two cars I’ve never seen parked in the driveway. I wonder who else is here besides Niall and his guy. I adjust my beanie and knock on the door. A muffled voice draws near and the door clicks unlocked. Without opening the door for me, the voice recedes back into the depths of the house. I let myself inside, smiling. Niall is infamous for that. He’s never been much of a gracious host. Except for maybe giving me the occasional free roach.

The walk to the den is a familiar one, especially the pit stop in the kitchen to grab a few beers. From the hallway I hear strung out voices talking about whichever actress has the best tits. I groan and roll my eyes, pushing through the swinging door. Why is everything always about tits?

”Harry!” Niall says. “What the hell took you so long?”

I smile at his welcoming. Niall’s always been the cheerful one out of us two. We’ve been friends since we were eight, he knows I can use some light in my life. I hold up four beers in answer.

”Oh, cool man, cool. So this is Zayn and he’s Louis,” Niall says gesturing first to a kid of a dark and handsome complexion and second to a skinny guy wearing a simple band tee, with his hair slicked back. My mind automatically conjures images of characters out of The Outsiders when I first see him, but Louis’ face doesn’t match his hair. He looks too rich to be a greaser. I can’t really place why it bothers me so much.

I toss a beer to each in greeting. My eyes meet with Louis’ as he catches his, and I’m shocked at their color of blue. They look cool in contrast to his blotchy red eyes, from smoking. That’s all. I don’t want to stare at them for eternity. I’m not oddly reminded of the awe I held for Christmas lights when I was younger. Boys aren’t supposed to look at me like that, and I’m sure as hell not supposed to like it. I flop down next to Niall on the ripped up couch, my eyes still locked with the poser boy.

”Fuckin crazy ‘bout Shane, man. Can’t believe he got busted!” Niall says.

I force myself to look at my best friend. “Fuck, I know. Crazy shit man.” I look at all of their eyes, and each pair is just as red and lidded as Louis’ are. “And I see you started without me. What the fuck.”

They all laugh guiltily.

”Yeah, sorry dude. Zayn got here…so we had no reason to wait really. We’re about to load another bowl now though. You want greens?”

”Hell yeah,” I say.

Niall’s already packed the bowl in the bong when he hands it to me. I dig in my jeans for my lighter, but feel nothing but empty space and lint. I realize too late that I left it on my dresser when I did laundry yesterday. I remember when Mom used to do that for me.

”Anyone got a light?” I ask the other guys. Zayn leans across the coffee table to hand me a purple lighter. “Thanks, man.”

”S’nothing,” is all Zayn says.

I snap open my beer can and the fizz reminds me that it’s summertime. All my expectations of self-discovery bubble up and out of me, like carbonated forms of new experiences. I want to keep them all, disorient them with smoke so they can never leave. So I do.

I easily light the bowl, burn it until it’s a tiny glowing coal, bright as a cherry. I can’t believe Niall used to light everything for me because I couldn’t figure out how the damned things worked.

The neck of the bong fills with white and grey swirls of smoke that curl in on each other until they’re unrecognizable. I suck in all the smoke i can, but I’ve been doing this for so long it barely burns anymore. It rushes down my throat and into my lungs to disappear, absorb into the receptor cells there. I can almost feel it seeping away, like the oxygen in my brain. My eyes are closed but I, for some reason, see Louis’ eyes behind my lids. I wonder what kind of weed this is.

I finally can’t suck anymore smoke so I release the carb. The remainder of the smoke is forced into my mouth. I try not to swallow any of it, that just leads to uncomfortable burping. I pass both the bong and the lighter back to Zayn, holding in the smoke. I don’t relax until Zayn’s started his hit.

”Dude, Harry, you just ghosted the biggest hit in fucking history, man!” Louis says. “You’re a fucking champ.”

Oddly pleased with myself, and the fact that I was just complimented by this strange boy, I smile and wait for another hit. I just want to feel high and relaxed, and not have to think anymore. I can already feel that one hit taking effect. The familiar feel of my eyes tingling and slowly creeping closed. My limbs feel light as feathers yet as heavy as lead. I let my mind wander while I watch everyone else take their turn.

Three more times around the circle and a few more beers later, I feel sufficiently under the influence. You know you’re high when you spend nearly 30 minutes discussing whether or not nachos are better than tacos or visa versa. I regret even bringing up the topic because now we’re all just pissed and hungry.

Man, I’m hungry.

.::.::.

I don’t really realize none of us have said anything for over ten minutes, until I break from my stupor to ask, “Anyone got a smoke?”

”No cigarettes in the house, man. Mom gets hella pissed…can’t get the smell out,” Niall says with his eyes closed. Zayn looked to be in an equal state of subdued consciousness.

”I do, ” Louis says, standing up.

We walk back through the house and each grab a beer before stepping out onto the moonlit porch. I don’t know why, but we both laugh our asses off when we open our beers at the same time. My arm feels hot where he grabs it, using me for balance as his eyes crinkle so much I’m afraid I might kiss him. Our laughs die into light sighs, and Louis takes out his pack of cigarettes, offering one to me. We sit on the porch, like Niall and I would when we were little, legs dangling off of the edge, hoping no monsters will grab our ankles.

I put the cigarette between my lips to patiently wait for Louis to light his own first. I’m surprised though, when Louis scoots a little closer to light mine himself. The hand cupped around the flame in front of my face looks almost delicate, and the way his eyes flick up to mine feels more intimate than it should. Aren’t boys supposed to be scared of this kind of thing? Being alone and close with strange boys? I don’t think getting the butterflies is an adequate response to such a threat to my heterosexuality and masculinity-because obviously those two are directly tied.

And then Louis drops the lighter on my lap. It’d be totally fine if we both don’t reach for it, but we do. Louis’ hand is faster, though, and my hand lands right on top of it. The gravitational pull combined with the beer I’ve drunk and the marijuana I’ve smoked somehow takes control of my hand and pushes Louis’ hand against my crotch. My Masculinity Threat Alarms are going off like crazy to match my erratically beating heart.

Our eyes meet. I sees something of a mischievous glint in Louis’, and I swear I can feel his fingers meekly squeeze me through my jeans before I can move my hand. Louis lifts his hand, now holding the lighter, acting as if nothing strange happened. I would think I’m just too inebriated to judge reality from imagination, if it weren’t for the mysterious look that’s still on his face.

I look over at the rich boy greaser next to me, waiting for him to say something; looking for clues as to how he feels. Maybe I can find the truth if he’d just look me in the eyes. The weirdest part of everything is that I’m not even surprised at the rise in my heartbeat, at the rush of senses, or at the butterflies that flutter in my gut. All these feelings are things my friends have spoken of when discussing times when they’d flirted with a pretty girl. It doesn’t feel strange or scary, like I know it should; just right.

The fact that Louis just lights his cigarette as if nothing has happened makes it somehow okay for me, lets me believe things like this actually happen in the real world. That things are easy and light and fun, not filled with anxious or confused thoughts all the time. I just can’t help but think that I’ve never seen anything look so beautiful under dirty street lights.

I’m staring at him, I know I am, but I can’t stop. I take a drag on my cigarette, and smile as I blow the smoke into his face. Am I flirting with him? When I drunkenly giggle as he coughs, bringing his pretty little hands up to cover his mouth, I think I might be. He sucks in more poison and blows it into my face, and really, I don’t know why I hadn’t been expecting that.

I smile through the smoke in a way I know Hally had loved, wanting to scoot closer but not knowing how to do it without being so obvious. I may be faded, but I still know what can happen to someone like me if I do the wrong thing to the wrong guy.

”What are you so giddy about?” Louis asks.

”I don’t know, man,” I say because I can’t put my feelings into words right now. I mean even if I could, I don’t know if it’d be a good idea to voice them anyway.

”You’re a really cool guy, you know that?” I say after watching him take another drag, because for some reason I want him to know I think that, that I hold him above the various other strangers in my life.

Louis stares back at me blankly. I can see that his eyes are wide, pupils dilated in the dark.

”Thank you,” he whispers and I appreciate the fact that he didn’t automatically throw a compliment back to me. When that happens, I can never help but wonder if the person truly meant what they said, or if they were just conforming to common courtesy. It makes me like him more. I might just be high but it’s like we’re on the same frequency, and he knew I don’t know how to take compliments. Can he hear my heartbeat in his head too?

.::.::.

By the time we had finished our beers, chucked the empty cans out into the dark yard, and smoked almost all of Louis’ cigarettes, I’d pretty much forgotten the whole “crotch grab” fiasco. That is, until Louis bluntly says, “But I wouldn’t mind getting another handful,” offhandedly and as if he were finishing a conversation that we had most certainly not been having.

Taken aback, I hold in the smoke I was about to exhale. Louis looks over at me through the dark with a smirk on his face. When he doesn’t look away, I blow three smoke rings into his face, each smaller than the last, which is a little gentler from our smoke blowing earlier. The night is still and warm, a perfect condition to support the fragile hoops.

”Hmm, is that right?” I ask, not really knowing where to go with this whole Louis-coming-onto-me thing.

”Yup,” Louis replies, popping the ‘P’.

Then again, I know exactly where I want this to go. I lean forward and kiss him. I’m scared for a second before Louis’ foreign lips reciprocate, opening to allow my tongue to pass between them. I drop my still lit cigarette so both my hands are free to explore this stranger’s body. He’s nothing but skin and loose cotton and the bitter taste of smoke. I fucking love it.

He has one hand behind my neck while the other is getting what he had wanted: another handful. I can’t concentrate on anything. The loud sound of our lips, the feeling of Louis’ warm hand rubbing and gently grabbing me through my jeans… I realize rather nonchalantly that this is the kind of heat Hally and I lacked. Her hand didn’t do that and her neck never tasted like this.

I push Louis onto his back and straddle his narrow hips. Louis moves his hand from between my legs to up under my shirt. His palms are sweaty but I don’t care. They’re on me, against my skin. His fingers brush lightly over one of my nipples and again I wonder how he could know that I love that. I try not to think of him knowing my thoughts, and move my hand to the lower parts of Louis’ lean body in turn, without thinking of what could happen if we’re caught. What Niall would do if he saw me, lips locked with a dude and my hand down his pants. That’s kind of what alcohol is for, though, to stop you from thinking clearly. It’s what I wanted, isn’t it? Not to think?

I unbutton Louis pants with one hand and awkwardly push them and his boxers down past his ass, one side at a time, until he’s completely bare. I feel kind of weird for thinking this, but his penis looks oddly delicate? Like his hands and cheekbones and slicked back hair. It rests, half hard, against his lower abdomen. I honestly never thought I’d ever think this about some guys dick, but it’s just kind of perfect. It isn’t big, but it isn’t small. It just fits Louis, I guess.

I probably should be alarmed at how easy it is for me to touch him, to grab him and slowly stroke my hand on his cock, biting his neck softly just under his ear. He lets out a small moan of complaint when I bring my hand to my face spit into my palm, then again when it returns, pumping up and down. The sound of Louis’ panicked breaths and quiet spoken words of, “More…,” and, “Oh god,” makes me wish I wasn’t wearing skinny jeans at the moment. His delicate hands run down my back under my shirt, and pull us closer, almost making it impossible to continue jerking him off. Almost.

I can almost feel the pressure building up in his body. I can almost hear it in his stifled moans. I wonder what he’s thinking, what my hand feels like to him. Is it better than his hand? Everyone else’s?

His breath catches in his throat, cutting off a moan. I lean my head back to watch his face as he comes. I feel pretty accomplished at the feel of it, wet and warm on the back of my hand, seeping between my knuckles. I also have never thought I’d ever like the feel of that, but somehow I do. A lot.

Louis laughs a sighing laugh, the biggest smile on his face. “Oh my god, Harry,” he says dumbfounded.

I barely have time to half-assly wipe my hand off on an old t-shirt next to us before Louis flips us over so he’s on top. It makes me rethink him; I didn’t think he had that mush strength in his slender arms, thin waist. This little greaser boy keeps me guessing. I never know what he’ll do next, and I love feeling like this. Like anything could happen.

”Your turn,” he says in this dark way, and I wonder if maybe he has this evil side to him that no one would think him capable of having. Maybe it stays hidden behind pretty eyes and sharp cheekbones.

Louis unlatches my belt ferociously, egging on my Mr. Dark Side theory. He spits into his hand, like I had, and when he grabs me it’s just as intoxicating as the weed. I’m lost in the butterflies and lust that are trapped inside me, waiting for Louis to set them free.

My hands wander up under his dark t-shirt. I feel the toned muscles gliding under skin, damp with sweat. Why have I never done this before? His hand is hot on me, his stubble scratching my neck as his lips graze over my skin. He kisses me again, his hand slowing. He bites my lip, pulling it gently before he scoots back. Smiling at me, a darkness in his eyes, he leans down and takes me into his mouth.

I… how, how in the fucking world is Louis doing that with his tongue? His hot breath blows out his nose onto my stomach and hips. I feel it. I’m close, I’m gonna…

”I’m gonna come…oh my g-od,” I moan, not actually processing the fact I said that aloud. I grip the shoulder of his t-shirt, failing to grasp at anything else as I finish.

Louis raises his head and spits off the edge of the porch, wiping excess saliva from his lips with the back of his hand. I laugh, and pull him down to kiss me. My hands mess up his hair, but I don’t think either of us care really.

His hands movie down to pull my underwear and pants back on. Louis laughs into my lips, our mouths still pressed together. I, feeling obligated, button and zips Louis’ pants as well. There’s something strangely intimate about dressing someone else. I can’t put a name on it or describe it. It’s just, it’s nice.

Louis’s nice. He smells nice and looks nice and feels nice. I like that I can rub his back, trace his vertebrae as if somehow that’d let me in on the secret of how he works. He’s soft, too, with his touches. He brushes the hair out of my eyes and lightly squeezes my sides. It’s nice to touch and be touched just for the sake of it. Because I want the feel of his hands and tongue against mine. I want the warmth of his body, and the kindness of his small movements. I want the way his eyes look softly at me in the dark on a wooden porch on a early summer night. Yeah, Louis’ nice.

Eventually, the kissing and gentle caresses slowly wind to a stand still and Louis rests his head on my chest. I don’t really know when we stopped. I’m confused, and I think I might be getting the spins. But I don’t want to move, don’t want to end this little moment. So instead I just absently stroke Louis’ soft hair just as he rubs his thumb in circles on my arm. I’m not really high anymore, but think I’m still drunk. I think. My brain feels like it’s spinning in circles inside my head, and I feel nauseous. Yeah, I definitely have the spins.

Deciding it’s time to get back to Niall and Zayn before they notice anything and before I vomit, I motion for Louis to get up. We brush the dirt off of ourselves, but my white shirt is helpless. I wonders if they’ll even notice. I snatches my hat off of the ground and adjust my curls under it.

"So…we’re both pretty scuffed up. Should we lie and say we wrestled? Or would that be too suspicious?" I ask, only half joking, as Louis helps fix my hair.

Louis scrunches up his face looking out at the darkened yard, thinking. “Hmm, they’ve probably smoked more and will be too high to think anything of it. Right?” He turns back to me.

”Yeah. You’re probably right.”

.::.::.

After I get some water in the kitchen (it actually helps my head a lot), we realize the other two guys had relocated to Niall’s bedroom and are playing Air Combat on Niall’s old Playstation. Smoke floods the hallway when Louis opens the door, affirming our speculations. Niall and Zayn hardly give so much as a flinch in recognition as Louis and I take our seats on the small couch behind their two beanbags.

”Any more weed?,” I ask them.

In a dazed voice Zayn replies, “Is that even a question, man? Check my bag.” He twitches his head to the left.

Seeing the bag Zayn had been referring, I grab it and bring it back to the couch. I pack a bowl into one of Niall’s many pipes. This one in particular is my favorite one, an old fashioned tobacco pipe. I always feel posh and classy whenever I smoke out of it.

After Louis and I take a few hits, I say, “Now just imagine me with a huge fucking mustache, man. Okay? Just do it. It’ll be really fucking funny.” I light the bowl again, and take a drag off it, looking quite thoughtful, and Louis looses it. He doesn’t stop laughing until Zayn tells him to, “Shut the fuck up, man,” which makes me laugh just as hard.

It’s a typical night at Niall’s, I guess: smoking, video games, and friends. I like nights like this, nights I smoke to laugh at dumb things and not to just feel numb. Tonight started out that way, with me wishing not to think anymore, but somehow it took a turn for the better. Yeah, Shane got busted. He was my friend, but shit happens. There are always these terrible situations that happen, all the fucking time, but you have to learn to find the silver lining in them.

Maybe Louis could be my silver lining.


End file.
